


warm blooded

by glueskin



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Drabble, M/M, Outdoor Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sign Language, give lucia a raise, selective mutism, thats literally it lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2020-04-24 17:27:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19178002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glueskin/pseuds/glueskin
Summary: worked up with adrenaline and deprived of a promised night in, aymeric takes care of relieving estinien of his stress on the border of dravania.





	warm blooded

**Author's Note:**

> me: i want to write sexy aymeric/estinien but i dont know what :/  
> yarrow: outdoor sex  
> me, but now possessed: (slams this out in 3 hours on barely any sleep)
> 
> did this the other day but i was feeling shy...im still getting used to writing both of them and its pretty short....but once again i am here on ao3 after being awake for an ungodly amount of time and saying fuck it ! 
> 
> anyway... enjoy the food ill write more actual fic for them soon enough

Some malm or so away faint voices and the bustle of setting up camp can be heard. Aymeric presses his hand harder still over Estinien’s mouth as the man beneath him lets out a shuddering groan against his palm, wetting the skin with his saliva.  
  
“You have to be quiet,” Aymeric rasps into the nape of Estinien’s neck. One would expect the man to be a far quieter lover, but no.  
  
In lieu of a response, Estinien flexes his thighs and Aymeric has to muffle his own sharp gasp against his skin; the pressure of Estinien’s muscular thighs tightening down on the cock sliding between them borders on the more painful side of pleasure.  
  
In retaliation, Aymeric tightens the grip his other hand has on the man’s own arousal, thumb digging harshly into the leaking crown. He gets another muffled, needy noise, Estinien rocking back against him as though desperate for more.  
  
Even if they did have the necessary items, Aymeric wouldn’t, not here. But the fact Estinien would let him—would want it—sends a hot shiver down his spine and he drags his teeth against the back of Estinien’s neck, over the same spot he’d sunken his teeth into some weeks ago.  
  
More dampness spills stickily against Aymeric’s fingers. He uses it to stroke down the length of Estinien’s cock, mouthing still at his sweat-damp skin. Estinien makes a noise closer to a whine than the man would ever admit to as Aymeric strokes him and rocks himself between his thighs.  
  
They need to hurry. It’s been too long already—time had been wasted as Estinien unclasped his armor so that Aymeric could touch him, removing even his helm so that Aymeric could kiss him. He’s going to owe Lucia _so many_ drinks when they arrive back in Ishgard, for she had witnessed Estinien hauling him away in his impatience and kept any others from seeking them out.  
  
“Come on, Estinien,” he pants, roughening his strokes the way he knows the other likes. A strangled keen is the response he gets; he can feel his palm slickening with more of Estinien’s spit, can hear the other man’s nails scraping against the frost-bitten bark of the aging tree he’s held up against.  When more fluid wets his thumb as Aymeric swipes it over the head of him once more, he knows Estinien is close.  
  
Well. The way he’s shaking under him, strained with the effort he’s putting into at least _trying_ to be quiet, tells him just as well.  
  
A few more well-timed movements of Aymeric’s wrist and his prediction rings true—Estinien’s teeth scratch into his palm as though he’s trying to bite down, so Aymeric drags his hand down further so that he can sink his teeth into the flesh between his thumb and wrist.  
  
Estinien takes the offering for what it is. Aymeric can feel the skin break under the force of his teeth, almost enough to make him wince as a muffled moan makes Aymeric’s hand tremble.  
  
He keeps his jaw clenched through his entire orgasm; Aymeric strokes him through, until Estinien is shivering and spent, soft in his wettened hand.  
  
Estinien’s jaw slackens, his teeth no longer keeping Aymeric’s hand in place. As he pulls both of his hands back, Aymeric resigns himself to wearing gloves even more often than usual for the foreseeable future.  
  
“ _Aymeric_ ,” Estinien heaves, breathless, turning to him. His eyes are still wild, if less so than they had been after the earlier skirmish with those heretics. Aymeric opens his mouth to say something, like _we need to finish or else_ , but Estinien barely takes the time to yank his woolen trousers up before he’s snatching Aymeric’s dirtied hand by the wrist and sinking to the snow.  
  
Oh.  
  
Aymeric’s face burns at the sight and feel of Estinien laving at the mess he had made of Aymeric’s hand, tongue dragging across the calloused flesh of his palm and in the dips between his fingers. His arousal, heavy and neglected between his legs, aches with approval at the sight.  
  
He doesn’t need to wait long for Estinien’s attention to shift. As soon as he’s finished with Aymeric’s hand, he grabs at his thighs with both hands, dull nails digging into the skin as he leans forward with his mouth open already open.  
  
“ _Mercy,_ ” Aymeric wheezes, slapping his aching hand over his mouth. Mercy, however, is a foreign concept to Estinien, who keeps his gaze on Aymeric’s, who could not bear to look away from the sight of his cock sinking into that mouth even if the Fury Herself were to descend in all of Her glory.  
  
Estinien takes the entirety of him in, until Aymeric feels the back of his throat and Estinien is breathing raggedly through his nose against the thatch of dark hair there.  
  
Aymeric’s hands ached to undo his hair from its pins, to bury his fingers and scrape his nails across Estinien’s scalp. But it would be obvious, then, what they were doing, for it would take much too long to fix it back into place.  
  
He settles instead for burying his own noises into the same hand he had buried Estinien’s, staring down with wide eyes as he savors the sight of Estinien with his mouth full of Aymeric’s cock.  
  
Gods, he always looks _so good_ , and the noise he makes in his throat as he sucks and maneuvers his tongue has Aymeric’s knees practically shaking.  
  
Aymeric uncovers his mouth only long enough to gasp out that he won’t last. Estinien’s neediness had excited him; though he had been able to get some pleasure from Estinien’s thighs, he had mostly focused on the other, but that doesn’t matter. Estinien’s pleasure is his, especially when he’s like this.  
  
The noise Estinien makes is less one of acknowledgement and more one of want. As promised, it truly doesn’t take much longer before Aymeric is spilling into the other man’s mouth; Estinien’s fingers dig harshly into his skin, keeping Aymeric steady as he swallows all he has to give. He remains in place until Aymeric has gone soft in his mouth, and even then it takes a long moment for him to bring himself to pull away.  
  
Aymeric almost shakes at the feeling of Estinien’s lips dragging across the sensitized skin of him as he pulls back. Estinien, on the other hand, does; he shudders, pleased, licking at his own swollen lips as if he’s just finished a fine meal as opposed to having sucked Aymeric off on the border of Dravania.  
  
Fury. At least they aren’t in a hall of worship, this time. Aymeric is so flushed that although the cold should be sinking into him, all he feels is warmth as Estinien eases his grip on his thighs and fixes his trousers for him without a word.  
  
“Was that enough?” Aymeric asks, a breathless hitch in his voice as Estinien draws himself back up. He knows the answer before Estinien even glances at him, eyes dark.  
  
He’s not surprised when Estinien doesn’t speak, instead using his hands to say, _“It’s going to be a long three days.”_  
  
Three more days of routing heretics before they can go back to Ishgard. Aymeric feels a measure of guilt as Estinien picks up his discarded armor—the dragoon had spent the last two weeks helping Haurchefant take care of increased Aevis activity in Dragonhead. When he returned, Aymeric had intended to leave his paperwork early for once so that they might have time together, only to be called away and Estinien had insisted on accompanying them instead of resting.  
  
He is, of course, selfishly glad of it, and he’ll make sure Estinien knows as much.  
  
Later. For now, he helps Estinien back into his armor piece by piece and steals a kiss from him before helping him latch his helm into place, pleased that Estinien at least seems far more relaxed than he had before.  
  
Estinien does the same, helping him fix his haubergeon back into place and tugging his tabard—now wet from the snow it had been discarded onto—over the metal. Aymeric’s gloves are just as uncomfortably wet, sticking unpleasantly to his skin. He tolerates it, lest anyone notice the incredibly obvious bite on his hand.  
  
The look Lucia gives him when they arrive back in camp tells Aymeric he’s going to owe her more than just a few drinks. He resigns himself to having his next pay be dedicated to purchasing Gibrillont’s most powerful home brews on her behalf.


End file.
